by Susan Hatler
With her one free hand, she covered her mouth to stifle her moan of horror. She felt her knees about to buckle and put a steadying hand on the wall. She'd needed to steady herself on the bed last night, she remembered. She'd thought it was because she wasn't wearing her glasses, but it had more likely been because of the alcohol. The alcohol that had emboldened her to climb into the bed and masturbate while she fantasized about Rhys while actually thinking that she could go to bed with his brother. All in the interest of science, of course.
And what she'd done instead was throw herself at Rhys. Begged him to please her, she remembered with mortification. What had she said? Please me. Suck me.
“Melina,” he began again.
She shook her head. Now that she knew, it seemed so obvious. His hair was shorter. He spoke more slowly. He touched her differently. More hesitantly.
More and more hesitantly as time went on.
Except for last night.
A slicing pain tugged at her stomach, and she automatically clutched at it. His surprise last night had been just that. He hadn't been expecting her to throw herself at him. He'd gone along, probably to spare her feelings. It certainly wasn't because he'd been overcome by desire. He hadn't even tried to seek his own release. Maybe he'd already known he couldn't achieve that kind of satisfaction with her. Maybe Max had warned him.
Now a hollow feeling of betrayal burned along with her embarrassment and heartache. “Whose room is this?”
“Mine.”
“Not Max's?”
“Max is on a different floor.”
A different floor. So had the front desk made a mistake? Or had Max chickened out at the last minute and tricked Rhys into filling in for him?
That made the most sense.
Despite her brief suspicion that Max had told Rhys she was waiting for him, the evidence didn't point to him purposefully deceiving her. When she'd said his brother's name, he'd sounded displeased—with her, with his brother, with the entire situation.
“Why…what…what are you doing here?”
“I flew in to give you your birthday present. It's right on the dresser. Didn't you see it?” Holding out his hands as if she was a rabid dog about to bite him, he nevertheless took two steps toward her, skirting the bed much like she had the night before. She moved backward, matching him step for step, suddenly feeling like a tiny rabbit being stalked by a very hungry wolf. “You gave me a present instead. Too bad it wasn't meant for me, but—”
“But nothing,” she said. “You need to leave.”
He swept his hands down his tall, muscular form. “You're going to make me walk out of here naked?”
“You can-you can dress first. While I shower.”
Another step forward by him. Another step back for her. “Let's talk.”
Talk. What was there to talk about other than her wanting to die from humiliation? “You weren't expecting me.”
He froze and seemed to weigh his words carefully before answering. “No, but—”
“You didn't want this.”
“Now, that's not true.”
She laughed even as she swiped at the tears gathered in her eyes. “Oh, is that why you've been hounding me with so much attention? Who are you dating now, Rhys? I bet she looks just like me, doesn't she?”
The look that flashed across his face was subtle, but she caught it. She remembered the picture on her bookcase. The one where he posed with a woman Hugh Hefner would've been proud of. She'd had Barbie-like dimensions. Thirty-eight double D’s if she wasn't mistaken. Melina was barely a B-cup, and her hourglass shape was bottom heavy. She probably wouldn't have been allowed to clean the Playboy mansion, let alone live there.
As she came even with the open bathroom doorway, he shook his head. “Melina, please, don't—”
“Just go,” she whispered.
She saw him tense, saw him shift on the balls of his feet and knew he was going to lunge for her. But he was too far away. He'd never make it in time. Which is why he cursed when she propelled herself into the bathroom, shut the door and locked it.
The heavy thump of a fist against the door made her flinch, but he didn't call out to her. He did mutter a slow, steady stream of cuss words that would have amused her if she hadn't been so devastated. Rhys had plenty of surprises up his sleeves, including a kinky side and hot temper. Slowly, she sank to the floor, crawled under the open space of the double sink, and curled into a corner.
No matter what he said, he hadn't wanted her. That open box of condoms hadn't been for her.
And now she was stuck in this bathroom, with her overnight bag still on the floor outside, with no clothes. No pride. And no hope. She wasn't strong enough to risk this kind of hurt again. She wasn't ever going to be able to please a man, and that included Jamie. When Rhys left, she would get dressed and drive home. Then she'd throw herself into her work instead of silly dreams of a family and children.
Right after she killed Max.
***
His gaze never leaving the closed bathroom door, Rhys tugged on fresh clothes, cursing the whole time. She'd thought he was Max. When she'd offered to please him. When he'd kissed her. When he'd lain on top of her, played with her nipples, had his fingers and tongue inside her. She'd thought he was his brother.
Hurt and anger fought for supremacy. He wanted to rip his brother apart. Wanted to yell at her for daring to ask his brother for such a stupid, idiotic, lame-brained, ridiculous, personal, intimate favor.
She sucked in bed? She'd believed her asshole of an ex-boyfriend so much that she'd sought out tutoring lessons on how to pleasure a man? From Max?
Raking his hands through his hair, he stopped staring at the door long enough to pace. And his brother had agreed, only to back out in the end. It didn't take a rocket scientist to figure out that, given their conversation at the theater and in the bar last night, he'd thought to pave the way for Rhys. He couldn't decide whether to beat the shit out of Max or kiss his feet in gratitude.
Pausing, he took a deep breath and sat on the bed. He eyed Melina's overnight case and knew she wouldn't come out of the bathroom until she thought he was gone. Grabbing the overnight case, he thought about throwing it down the hallway. Instead, he shoved it under the desk, out of view. He wasn't going to make leaving him easy for her.
Falling back on the bed, he stared at the ceiling and allowed himself to process things. He was upset, yes, but he was also thinking clearheadedly now, something he obviously hadn't been doing when Melina had been standing in her underwear in front of him last night.
His clearheaded thinking was one of the things that made the act with his brother work. Off stage, Max was clearly the more extroverted. His passion and enthusiasm for performing were what pumped up Rhys's genuine but more quiet interest in magic. Unlike his brother, Rhys wasn't impulsive. Ever. He thought things through, whether it was the believability of a magic trick, what position in the room gave him the best advantage when it came to illusion, or whether a woman was hitting on him for his fame rather than a true interest in the man he was.
While there were more of the former than the latter, that didn't necessarily mean he'd turn a woman down just because she liked the limelight. He just liked to know what he was getting into from the beginning. That way, he maintained control from beginning to end, just like with his magic.
He decided what people saw and didn't see.
He made things happen.
But not with Melina. He'd never had that kind of control with her, and that more than anything else was probably what had kept him away from her. If he couldn't even control his feelings for her, what made him think that if he ever had her, he'd be able to leave? And leaving was always what he and his brother did. It was in their blood. He couldn't imagine staying in one place, day after day, month after month, working the same job. Even for Melina.
Or, more precisely, he could imagine it, but he couldn't accept such bliss was actually possible. Not on his part. And not on hers.
The first thing he'd thought when she'd called him Max was, “Not again.” He loved his brother, but sometimes he felt like he lived in his shadow. That no one truly saw him for who he was because they were always a pair.
The only thing that stopped him from freaking out completely was the fact she'd said his name last night, right after he'd undeniably given her the best orgasms of her life. Her defenses had been down, and she clearly hadn't realized Max hadn't shown up.
But she'd still said his name.
That meant a lot. Right now, that meant everything.
His right shoulder itched with intuition just before the phone rang. Rolling over, he reached for the phone and picked it up, knowing immediately who it was. “You are so dead.”
Silence. Then a hesitant, “Where's Melina?”
“Listen, you little—”
“If that's your brother,” Melina yelled from the bathroom, “you can tell him he's a dead man when I see him.”
“Already done, Ladybug,” he called through clenched teeth.
“She's still there?” Max sounded so proud of himself that Rhys tightened his hand on the receiver, wishing it was his brother's neck. “So what's the problem, man? I'm assuming you took advantage of the situation?”
“That's the problem, Max. I don't take advantage of women, especially not Melina.”
“So you didn't—” His brother cleared his throat. “You know?”
“No. Why don't you enlighten me? Exactly what did you think was going to happen, Max?”
“Was she wearing something sexy?”
Rhys remembered the little shorts and top she had been wearing, modest and simple by most standards, and currently lying on the floor. “Flannel pajamas.”
“Damn. And her hair?”
Loose and gorgeous. Feeling more relaxed, Rhys stretched out on the bed only to tense when he heard the bathroom door unclick. Feigning disinterest, he stayed on the bed as Melina peeked out from around the corner, her hands clutching her sheet while she searched for the bag he'd moved underneath the desk. “Pinned back in that bun of hers.”
“And the glasses?” Max groaned.
“The glasses? As butt-ugly as ever.” He looked straight at her when he said it, and she wrinkled her nose and stuck out her tongue at him. He sat up, and her eyes widened, which, bastard that he was, immediately made him hard. Despite the fact he was fully clothed, he didn't miss the way her gaze moved down then up his body. Unlike similar glances other women gave him, her hesitant assessment made his chest puff out and his heart pound out of control.
“So what the hell did you guys do all night?”
“What do you think we did? We played rummy, watched a girly movie, and I ended up sleeping on the floor.”
Melina covered her mouth to hide her smile of relief, but he saw it anyway. He cocked an eyebrow at her.
“No sparks?”
More like Mount St. Helens. “Not a one.”
Max sighed. “Well, hey, I'm sorry, man. I really thought…I don't know. I just thought if I finally pushed the two of you into taking a chance—”
Almost feeling sorry for his brother now, Rhys smiled and rose. “You're still dead when I see you.”
“So Melina's okay?”
His smile widened until a grin split his face. While she remained frozen where she stood, wrapped in the sheet like a Grecian goddess, both determination and anticipation rolled through him. He stared at her. What he might have done or should have done before no longer mattered. She'd offered herself to him. She wanted sexual tutoring? Fine. Mistake or not, he was definitely the best man for the job. He was going to prove both her and that little twerp she'd dated wrong. By the time he was through with her, she'd know exactly the kind of power she held over a man. Over him.
“She's going to be fine.” Dropping his gaze, he allowed himself to take in the curves he'd felt and tasted last night. He wanted that sheet gone. Now. And by the way she was looking at him, she was starting to realize it. “In fact, she's going to be fucking fabulous.”
While his brother squawked and started asking questions, Rhys hung up on him. He planted his hands on his hips and thrust his jaw out aggressively. “You ready for your next lesson, Ladybug?”
Game on.
***
Melina stared at Rhys and shifted uneasily from one foot to the other.
Next lesson? Was he crazy or was she? Because suddenly she wanted to drop her sheet, wrap herself around him, and never let go.
Fortunately for her, her saner side prevailed. After three failed relationships, she didn't believe it was better to love and lose, rather than never to have loved before. Especially not with Rhys. She loved him. She'd always loved him. But that love, combined with his pulling away from her, had caused her far too much pain of late.
If she was honest with herself, Rhys had hurt her far worse than Brian ever could, and that was not something she was going to ignore. If she held any place in his heart still, she'd have to content herself with that; she wasn't going to voluntarily seek out more only to have him walk away from her again. She turned toward the bathroom. “Um, I think I'll—”
“I feel it only fair to warn you that if you try to hide in the bathroom again, I'll just have to break the door down.”
Surprise came first, then she couldn't help it. She laughed. She laughed long and hard. When she finally managed to control herself and look at him, he was frowning fiercely.
“Glad to know the idea of me exerting enough strength to break down a door amuses you.”
It was the idea of him exerting such effort for her that had made her laugh, but she didn't tell him that. Shaking her head, she bit her lip. “I'm sorry. It's not that. I just…I just laugh when I'm nervous.” Plus, Rhys had just told Max what he normally thought of her. With her, men expected flannel pajamas, pinned-back hair, butt-ugly glasses.
Weren't those the same words Max had used to describe her choice in eye decor?
Even as she appreciated his discretion, she wondered if it was because he was too embarrassed to admit that he'd actually done anything with her. The thought pierced a tender spot inside her, when she'd thought she'd guarded those softer places long ago.
“So I make you nervous? Why is that, do you think?”
Any trace of humor slipped, and she averted her gaze. So he knew he made her nervous. Big deal. Like he hadn't already figured that out a long time ago with the way she always flushed and stuttered around him. “Can you give me my overnight bag? I thought I left it—”
“I gave it to a passing bellboy while you were in the bathroom.”
She narrowed her eyes at him. “You did not.”
He shrugged. “No, I didn't. But I did hide it. I don't want you getting dressed and rushing out of here before we talk.”
“But that's…that's—” she sputtered.
“Childish? Hey, desperate times and all that. But if you want to look around, then by all means…” He waved his hand in invitation.
For a moment, she just stared at him. What was motivating him to be so difficult about this? He had to know she was embarrassed about the mix-up, yet he was forcing her to confront him. Why wouldn't he just let it go? Why was he getting so much pleasure from her humiliation?
The answer came to her so suddenly that she felt foolish for not thinking of it sooner. This was obviously about the competitive male ego. He was probably offended that she'd asked Max for the favor and not him. Well, he didn't need any more ego stroking from her. Her performance last night should have already told him that she was putty in his hands.
She glanced around but didn't see her bag anywhere. Her purse, however, was by the television. Next to his cologne and that box of condoms. She snatched her purse, rifled through it, and found her spare glasses. With a mutinous thrust of her chin, she put them on. Her vision immediately focused, making her feel slightly calmer. “Honestly, Rhys,” she said, trying to sound bemused. “I don't know why you won't just give me my bag. All I want is my
clothes.”
“Because seeing you all naked and pink and wearing nothing but those glasses would give me enormous pleasure.” He stepped closer to her and tugged playfully at the sheet that she clutched with whitened knuckles. “Lots of men dream of being taken by the prim librarian who's really a wildcat in bed. That's what this is all about, right? Learning how to please a man? I think we established last night that I qualify as a member of the male species. At least by touch. Would you like to see the proof itself?” His hands hovered over the button fly of his jeans.
“You're not funny.”
He smiled and shrugged. “Funny is the last thing I'm trying to be.”
She pondered what he'd said. “Do men really fantasize about librarians? I would have thought the average male liked something more overt. That's why porn flicks and skin magazines are so popular, isn't it?”
Now it was his turn to erupt in laughter. “Skin magazines?”
“What? That's what they're called, aren't they?”
“Sure, by some people. I just never thought to hear that term coming from your pretty lips.”
The casual compliment made her blush, but she immediately batted the pleasure it caused away. “Oh, you view me as asexual?”
In an instant, his expression grew serious. Heated. “I've never thought of you as asexual. Not by a long shot and certainly not after last night. Honey, you've got more passion in you than most men could handle.”
“Most, but not you, right?”
“I think I 'handled' you pretty well last night.” Reaching out, he gripped her chin between his thumb and forefinger, refusing to let her turn away. “Now, why don't you tell me what possessed you to go to Max in the first place? Your ex sold you a bill of goods, Melina, and I would think you're way too smart to fall for it.”
Too smart? Yes, that was her. Her brain told her that Brian was just an insecure man with an average-size penis that needed to “diss” her in order to feel more manly. But her bruised heart—the heart that longed to find love and companionship and family—told her that it was her own fault she was alone. Which meant admitting to herself that Brian was actually right. She had lain there like a board half the time. Because she'd never felt inspired to do otherwise. Until last night. “Why didn't you tell Max what happened when he called?”
